I’d purposely left Flash and Jamie out of the loop on this all-hands, asking Maverick and Harm to hang back with them at the hospital to both watch their women and my kids in case this didn’t go my way. I didn’t want my boys seeing their father beat to death in front of them. Devon was also not here, keeping Poppy occupied and distracted, although, he wasn’t happy about it and had made his objections known for the permanent record.
“Gentlemen, we all know why we’re here,” Irish Frank announced through his bullhorn. As the owner of Rosie’s Bar and Grill, Portland’s longest standing neutral ground, he’d been asked to stand as mediator and final judge over the night’s punch up. “Hatch, the president of the Dogs of Fire, Portland chapter has invoked the right to mortal combat against the president of the Spiders, Gresham chapter, Warlock. Warlock has accepted the challenge and since both participants are valid standing club Presidents, I see no reason to contest the match.”
Both clubs roared out their approval, sendingtheir voices up into the surrounding pines.
“The rules are simple,” Irish Frank continued. “This is hand-to-hand, man-to-man combat. Weapons of any kind, or outside assistance, are not allowed. No rounds, no time limit, no running away. This is a fight to the death unless the victor chooses to grant mercy. Do you both understand the rules?”
I nodded.
“You’re pretty good at this, Frankie. When I’m done here, I want to talk to you about managing your career as an MMA announcer,” Warlock said.
“You’re a funny fuckin’ guy, Warlock,” Frank replied. “Let’s see how hard you fuckin’ laugh with a busted jaw.”
“Aw, come on, you’re supposed to be neutral. That means no favorites.” Warlock groaned. “It seems like everyone around here has a giant hard-on for Hatch and his dear lady wife.”
“You say one more thing about her and I promise I’ll cut your tongue out,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Loverboy. All my plans for the afterparty are set and youknowwho I’m bringing as my date. Well, not justmydate, but the whole club’s date if you know what I mean. Maybe Maisie’ll end up liking it. Take to it like a duck to water just like Jana did. Fuck, Jana was all-in right from the start.”
I didn’t so much think of Jana as my first wife,but more so as my last youthful fuck up, so his taunts about her didn’t mean shit.
“You and your club die tonight,” I replied.
“Save it, boys,” Frank barked at us before returning to his megaphone. “Tonight, Hatch and Warlock fight as champions of their clubs. Which means the losing side agrees to lay down their cuts and close their local chapter. Do your lieutenants agree to uphold the code and the agreed upon stakes of this bout?”
“We do,” Mack and the Spiders’ fuckweasel VP said in unison.
“You’re going to regret this, Hatch,” Warlock said.
“I’m looking forward to shutting you the fuck up. Permanently.”
“Alright, gentlemen. Wait for my command to begin fighting,” Frank said. “Lieutenants, go back to your bikes.”
Mack patted me on the back. “Time to squash these fucking Spiders for good.”
“You and the boys take care of Maisie if anything happens to me.”
“Remember what I said. Kill him quick,” Mack said before joining the rest of the club.
“Do you understand these rules and agree to abide by the universal biker’s code?” Irish Frank asked the crowd, receiving a thunderous response in return.
Frank then squared us up before giving hisfinal command. “Then let’s have a fuckin’ fight!”
Warlock and I, both having some training in the ring along with more than our fair share of street fights, took traditional boxing stances and began circling each other. I remember throwing a few jabs, trying to find my range and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back. My ears were ringing and the left side of my face felt like it was on fire. Warlock hit me with a right hand I never saw coming, sending me into the mud, struggling to stay conscious.
“Come on, ol’ man. Get the fuck up,” Warlock said, waving me up. Encouraging me to get back on my feet rather than kicking my head in while I was down. I don’t know why he did it. Maybe he wanted to look good in front of his club, or maybe he was fucking with me, or maybe he mistakenly thought I ended on my ass easily. Whatever the reason, it was a tactical mistake on his part.
“I’m gonna skull fuck you in front of your entire crew. Then, after you’re dead, I’m gonna take care of your wife myself. Hell, maybe I’ll knock this one up too.”
That was all I needed to hear to get back on my feet. My head was still humming, but my legs were good.
“That’s the last time,” I said, pointing to the ground. “Next time it’s you.”
“You should never fight when you’re angry,” Warlock goaded. “It clouds your judgement.”
“I’ll cloud your fuckin’ judgement,” I said, rushing Warlock, smothering him with a series of inside punches. Pounding away at his ribs, hoping to crack as many of them as I could early on.
I made the mistake of dropping my head a little too low as I chopped away at his mid-section and paid for it with an elbow to the back of my head. A highly illegal move in any professional combat sport due to its potential lethality. But this wasn’t sport.
